


you know me too well (filthy, impetuous soul)

by kittenhwa



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Chasing, Consensual Non-Consent, Cum Eating, Doppelcest, Doppelganger, Hala Hala Universe, Knives, M/M, Mention of Past Sexual Assault, Pain, Poorly Explored Lore, Selfcest, Sexual Violence, Threats, Time Travel, boot licking, please read author's notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenhwa/pseuds/kittenhwa
Summary: "Who are you?" is what Hongjoong asks.His gaze flicks down to watch as they lift their hand to the strap of their mask, unhooking it from behind their ear. As they tug it off their face, Hongjoong's breath stops in his chest.His own face is looking back down at him.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	you know me too well (filthy, impetuous soul)

**Author's Note:**

> hello helloooo~
> 
> as mentioned in the tags, the point of this fic is the consensual non-consent. this means that there is a lot of struggling, chasing, threats, very rough sex, anger, and use of the word 'no' and other denials, which are ignored. there are some threats with a knife involved, however the knife is not actually used on anyone besides being a scare tactic. 
> 
> there is also a few mentions of past sexual assault, however the details of those events are not discussed. 
> 
> the characters have a safeword established between them, which is explicitly addressed, however the specifics of acts they engage in are not negotiated in depth. 
> 
> title taken from the song 'you know me too well' by nothing but thieves. as always idk the group or song but the lyrics matched the theme, so there you go!!
> 
> and with that; enjoy!!!

Hongjoong wakes with a start.

There is someone else here; it's a feeling, the presence of another person in the warehouse tangible in the air. He's still a little bit groggy as he pushes himself up on his elbows, but he makes himself sit upright, scanning the room.

It's not hard to spot them. They're directly across from the couch Hongjoong calls his bed most nights, silhouetted against an overwhelmingly bright light. As Hongjoong rights himself, he watches the person begin to walk forward, slowly. As if in a dream, Hongjoong can't find it in himself to get up and run, or cry for help.

No one is nearby, anyway. There's nothing he could do.

He swallows as the figure continues it's approach. They've got a steady gait, and they look like they're about Hongjoong's height. Dressed in all black, with various accessories that must serve some purpose Hongjoong has no idea of, they are surprisingly neutral as a being. Hongjoong can't get a read on them, no thanks to the wide brimmed hat and black face mask covering half of their face.

As they get close, their frame blocks out the light, and as soon as the shadow passes over his face, Hongjoong feels colder. He's pressed against the back of the couch, eyes wide and locked on to the person's face. Hongjoong watches as they tip their head up more, showing Hongjoong their sharp eyes, cold and cruel, and then they're lifting the object in their left hand.

Hongjoong looks down at it finally, still moving slowly like he's in a dream, what he imagines being drugged is like. He shakes himself internally from the thought so he can focus, something like fear swooping in his gut as he looks up from the hourglass in their gloved hand to their eyes again.

They're close enough that he has to look up their body, staring through his eyelashes as he meets their eyes again. He's confused, but he can't help the arousal that simmers through him. Apparently he can't move, is transfixed; they could do anything.

As if they can hear his terrible thoughts, the person's eyes narrow, the mask moving like they're smiling behind it. Hongjoong doesn't move, can't seem to be able to. His lips are just barely parted, eyes wide as he stares up at this person.

  
**  
  


Hongjoong wakes up with a gasp.

He's alone, no bright light, no imposing figure. There's a bit of a blue glow emanating from the only remnant of the dream that tells Hongjoong it was real, the hourglass on the low table in front of him. He stares at it for a long moment, and then reaches out with one tentative hand to touch it. It's warm against his fingertips, and Hongjoong swallows hard.

He doesn't know what it means. The hourglass is stashed in a stray box in the storage area where he’s kept his life since he'd been thrown out, hidden there for a week or so as Hongjoong tries to go on with his life. It doesn't leave his mind, and neither does the figure from the dream that wasn't a dream.

His friends come to him for advice, and as the days progress, he can feel the tendrils of what had kept them together, what had made them so close and so strong together, what has helped them through the things they've gone through up until now, begin to stretch and snap. One by one, like broken strings of fate as life redirects their courses, they drift further and further apart. Hongjoong doesn't know what to do; he just wants what they used to have back.

He's dead tired as one week turns into two since the dream. Hongjoong wakes up a few times every night, always with his heart in his throat, wanting to know what the dream had meant, what the figure wants him to do with the hourglass. 

They're never there, though, and Hongjoong's exhaustion weighs on him too, almost as heavily as the fear that he will lose the seven best parts of his life.

  
**  
  


He falls asleep on the couch without even realizing two weeks after the dream. 

When he'd last been awake, Seonghwa had still been there. They'd been quiet together, tired and worried and more than happy to take their rest in the closeness of each other's bodies. Leaned against each other, Hongjoong had read while Seonghwa had done work for one of his classes.

It had been comfortable, which makes the freezing air of the warehouse when he wakes now all the more jarring.

This time, there is no harsh light. A fog seems to have descended on the space, and Hongjoong shivers as he sits up, feeling like he's made of molten candy again. His blink is slow as he scans the room, but it doesn't take long for his eyes to land on a shadow in the corner in the shape of a person. Hongjoong's heart leaps into his throat at the sight, and he stares intently as they begin to walk towards him again.

Like last time, Hongjoong pushes himself upright, back pressed to the couch cushions as he stares. His lips are parted, and he peeks his tongue out to wet them as the figure approaches. They end up right against the couch themselves, knees pressed to the cushion. Their legs are inches apart. Hongjoong is far too aware of this fact, the idea that they’re nearly touching sparking like electricity through him.

Hongjoong has to tip his head back to stare up into their eyes. Like in the first dream, they are sharp and mean, no warmth to be found. Lined in black, they're still the only indication that whatever it is Hongjoong is feeling is at least somewhat reflected back at him.

Gathering himself, Hongjoong opens his mouth. "Who are you?" is what he asks. It seems like the most important question, even though Hongjoong thinks, objectively, it probably isn't. The figure doesn't blink, still staring into Hongjoong's eyes unwaveringly.

The mask moves when they speak. "Do you really want to know that?"

Hongjoong swallows, eyes widening even further. Even their voice seems cruel, and Hongjoong can't help the shudder that slides through him. He tells himself it's because of the cold, and, moving slowly, he nods.

The person is wearing the same long leather gloves as last time, and Hongjoong's gaze flicks down to watch as they lift their hand to the strap of their face mask, unhooking it from behind their ear. As they tug it off their face, Hongjoong's breath stops in his chest.

His own face is looking back down at him.

Everything is the same; the angle of his nose, the slant of his mouth, the cut of his jaw, the tiny scar on his forehead that he got when he ran into a shelf at a store when he was four years old. It's him, exactly, completely, and Hongjoong doesn't know what to do.

The eyes are different, though. Not the shape of them, not the way they sit on his face, no. They are not Hongjoong’s eyes, seem even colder and more distant now that the mask is off, and Hongjoong's breathing stutters back to life in his chest.

"Are you satisfied?" his own voice asks him, and Hongjoong isn't sure what to say. The laugh lines that Hongjoong has don't seem to be present on this version of him's face. He wonders when this Hongjoong stopped smiling.

He can't seem to stop staring, the man in front of him enthralling in a way that seems like it should maybe feel narcissistic, but just feels to Hongjoong like he's caught in a web. He nods, answering the question, and his face smiles back down at him.

"Are you really satisfied?" the other version of him prompts, and Hongjoong shivers. His eyebrow quirks on another's face. “Answer me.”

"Yes," Hongjoong makes himself nod again, but then he's shaking his head, eyes widening. "No, I– I'm not. I have... questions."

"Mmm," his voice hums, deeper and rougher than Hongjoong's own, like this version of him has done a lot of yelling in his time. One gloved hand lifts, touches two fingers to the side of Hongjoong's face. "I knew you would. We don't have much time, though." The other version of him cocks his head, hand dropping to his side again. "What is it that you want the most?"

Hongjoong's head spins for the half a moment it takes for him to focus again. The haze seems to be clearing, the fog lifting and his body more mobile now. He shakes his hands out, staring up the man's body to his eyes.

"I'd like to know your name," he says, resolute. Amusement dances in the other man's eyes. "And what to do with the hourglass."

"Both are good questions," this other Hongjoong inclines his head. "My name is the same as yours. That would be confusing, though, perhaps. What would you like to call me?"

The fingers touch under Hongjoong's chin, tipping his head back even further. Just that tiny point of contact makes heat flare through him as he does his best not to read into the question.

"Kim," Hongjoong decides. No one in Hongjoong's life calls him by his last name, so it feels appropriate, and he preens under the approving look he's given by this other version of himself.

"That will do," Kim says, and then the fingers are leaving again. Hongjoong is only able to mourn the loss for half a moment, though, before Kim is stepping back moving out of his space. That distresses Hongjoong, but he's distracted when Kim speaks again. "The hourglass will help you. I brought it to you so you could change what I could not."

A wave of worry and stress washes through Hongjoong; this is more responsibility, and he's not sure how much more his shoulders can bear.

As if sensing his distress, Kim sits on the low table, knees spread wide and hands clasped together between them. He's still got the hat on, but Hongjoong can see his whole face as he stares at a spot on the ground and talks.

"You want to protect what you have, right?" his voice is low, and there's an edge to it that feels almost protective, challenging. Hongjoong nods. "You want to keep your friends safe. You want to make sure you are always happy together."

"More than anything," Hongjoong breathes. This isn't what he imagined the hourglass could accomplish, but as he listens, he berates himself for having dismissed it to a box in their storage area, among his old comic books and CDs.

Kim lifts his eyes to meet Hongjoong's. They stay staring at each other for a long moment, and then Kim sighs, eyes shutting in what looks distinctly like despair as he lifts his hand to pluck his hat off his head. It's placed on the low table, and Kim opens his eyes again, looks at Hongjoong.

"You have to take them with you when you go back," he explains, and then he's telling Hongjoong exactly how the hourglass works. His voice is low and steady, and he describes each step in excruciating detail, keeping Hongjoong hooked the entire time. As he's told the information, it seems to seep deeper into his psyche than anything at school ever had, like some inherent knowledge that he's always had but needed to unlock to access. Kim gives him a smile as he finishes the instructions. His eyes look a little sad, and it's the most familiar they've been since he first showed up.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Hongjoong asks, and Kim bites his bottom lip between his teeth as he seems to weigh the pros and cons of telling the truth.

"You have to change things," his voice is still steady, but there's something in it, something like desperation. There is a hard edge to his tone when Kim tells him, "We can't do this again."

Hongjoong swallows thickly. It's not an answer, but it's terrifying nonetheless.

"Okay," his voice is barely a whisper. "I'll do everything I can."

Kim's gaze is still boring into him, but after a long moment, he nods, letting out a breath. It seems to drain the energy and tension out of him, and Hongjoong doesn't know what that means either.

The silence in the warehouse is heavy. The two versions of Hongjoong are staring at each other as the fog dissipates completely, and then Kim is speaking again.

"Is that all you want?" he asks, and Hongjoong starts at the sound of his voice, deep in his chest, alluding to something Hongjoong cannot pin down just yet. Kim's eyes are dark.

Unbidden, images spring to Hongjoong's mind. Kim taking what he wanted from his weaker counterpart, Hongjoong held down under Kim's strong grip, those gloved hands tugging on his hair, his skin, his body.

Hongjoong blinks, a shudder passing through him. Kim's expression hasn't changed, still staring at Hongjoong with those eyes that keep him locked in place.

"What do you mean?" Hongjoong's voice comes out surprisingly steadily. He feels dizzy again as Kim stands abruptly, stepping forward so he's close to the couch again. Hongjoong looks up at him, waiting for an answer.

"I know your mind, Hongjoong," Kim tells him. His left hand flexes into a fist, the leather squeaking in the quiet, and Hongjoong's gaze flicks down to watch the movement. When he lifts his eyes again, Kim's mouth is pulled into a smirk. "I know what it is you want."

Hongjoong's blood runs cold. His mouth is dry, and he tries swallowing, wanting to wet his pallet. It's impossible, he can't, no one can know–

The hand curled into a fist relaxes, reaching out to press under Hongjoong's chin again. The movement forces his head back further, and his lips part as he stares up at Kim, breaths stuttering.

"You'd never ask anyone for it," the man is another version of Hongjoong himself, but right now, broad and imposing in front of him, Hongjoong thinks he could be anyone. "But you want it. It's all you think about, when your Seonghwa touches you."

At the mention of Seonghwa, Hongjoong inhales sharply. It's true; he's always hated himself for how he wants Seonghwa to treat him, but has never been able to help himself. Kim plants one booted foot on the couch cushion beside Hongjoong, leans forward so their faces are inches apart.

"You want to be forced," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to Hongjoong's mouth as it closes when he swallows. His eyes lift to meet Hongjoong's again, and his eyebrow quirks up. "You want to hate it. You want to beg for them to stop. You don't want them to."

Arousal is curling through every one of his veins, seeping through his body. It's a terrible secret. Hongjoong nods, eyes slipping shut.

"I can give you that," Kim assures him, sounding amused. "I want to do it. You can run, you can fight, and I won't stop. I'm not scared of it."

"But what about later," Hongjoong asks before he can stop himself, voice barely audible as he slits his eyes open again. This is an itch he's never wanted to scratch, the fear that it will consume completely far him too present in his mind. "When you're gone."

"Aww," the sound is amused, teasing. The fingers under his chin move, grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks. "There are others who will give you this. You have to make some progress though. Use what I told you; you'll get there."

The insinuation is there, that his friends would give him this,  _ will  _ give him this. It makes him shiver, pressing forward into the hand holding his face as he thinks of who, when, how. The hand gripping him tightens, shaking him once.

"For now, though, you'll have to settle for me," Kim's pout is mocking, and it makes Hongjoong want to cry in all the best ways. He pushes forward further. "The only time I stop is if you say the word."

Hongjoong doesn't know what word Kim is talking about, until, clear as day, the word 'ice' paints itself through his mind, given to him like a memory. Kim's blink is slow as they stare into each other's eyes, and Hongjoong nods in his grip to show that he's understood.

"Hmm," Kim's low noise of approval is short and knowing. "This is going to be fun for me." 

The first move Kim makes is to draw away completely. He tips his chin up, staring down his nose at Hongjoong, who is still sitting small on the couch. Hongjoong collects himself for a moment, before he clues in to what he's supposed to do here.

He's quick, ducks out of Kim's reach by climbing over the arm of the sofa. His right foot hits the ground first, and a hand curls around his bicep as he makes to run. Shaking it off is easier than he thought it might be, and Hongjoong lurches forward to try and escape from Kim's range. He's not trained to fight, not the way Kim seems to be, though, so his attempt to flee is about speed and not dexterity.

He has the advantage of knowing the warehouse much better than Kim does, which is an advantage until he remembers that Kim has his brain, his memories; they're linked, and when he pictures the stairs in his head, he can feel the tremor of amusement from Kim in his mind.

He's a little bit surprised that he's kept away from Kim despite only having his socks on and the room being dark; the other version of himself has been consistently just two steps behind him as he's been running. He's out of breath, though, starting to get tired, whereas Kim hasn't even broken a sweat.

Hongjoong looks over his shoulder to gauge how far behind Kim is, so he misses the skateboard in his path. He falls hard, catching himself on his palms, pain lancing up his arms as his wrists take the brunt of the impact, and then he feels hands curl around his ankles. He's yanked back, even as he scrambles to pull himself forward again, palms catching on the concrete flooring as he's tugged back. When that doesn't work and Kim is still dragging him, as if he's going to pull him into the middle of the huge space, Hongjoong twists on the ground, drawing his legs in to wriggle out of Kim's grasp. He pushes himself up at the same time, and within seconds he's broken free and standing again.

He's panting. His chest is rising and falling heavily, arousal and adrenaline curling through him at an alarming rate. Kim smirks.

"You put up a feeble fight," he remarks, and his blink is slow. He takes on step forward, forcing Hongjoong to step back in tandem. "I remember being weak like that."

Swallowing is difficult for Hongjoong, who is warring with himself against dropping to his knees and begging for Kim to take what he wants. He shakes himself of the thought, though; that would be too easy.

"You can't," Hongjoong says, testing the waters. He takes another step back, and Kim matches it. Wetting his lips, he tries again. "I don't want you to touch me."

Kim's chin tips down, and his smile makes Hongjoong shiver in real fear.

"That's what makes it fun, buttercup," his voice is teasing, cruel, and Hongjoong feels his eyes widen. "I don't give a fuck if you want it or not."

This is good. Hongjoong feels better than he's ever felt in his life, the fear and adrenaline and arousal all working together until he feels almost faint.

Turning his back on Kim feels genuinely frightening now, but he does it, takes off in the direction of their makeshift recording booth. He hears the heavy sounds of Kim's boots hitting the ground behind him, and he seems to be gaining on Hongjoong quickly, no longer holding back. It shouldn't come as a surprise when the hands plant on his back and shove him as hard as they can, making him stumble and trip. He ends up on the ground again, twisting on the floor before Kim can grab his ankles again. Leather tugs at his skin as Kim's hands grab at his arms, yanking them around to tire him out before he curls his fingers around Hongjoong's wrists.

"Get away from me," Hongjoong is struggling, knees up against his chest as he tries to throw Kim off like that. He doesn't mean to kick, but his instincts light up and the only thing in his mind is how he needs to throw this person off him as quickly as possible.

Kim's laugh is low, the sound of Hongjoong's knee making contact with his chest a low thud in the space between them. It doesn't seem to phase him, just makes him bear down on Hongjoong even harder. He manages to pin Hongjoong's legs flat with his knees, and he feels heavier than he looks. Hongjoong wonders if it's all the leather, or if Kim really is just built differently from him.

"That's it," Kim coos, ducking his head down to hover over Hongjoong's face. His smile is frightening, and Hongjoong renews his squirming in the face of it. "You shouldn't fight it. We both know you want this."

Hongjoong does, but he shakes his head. "I don't," he gasps, arching his back and trying to slide Kim down his legs towards his middle so he can get his feet under him. It works, miraculously, and then he's using every bit of his strength to roll them. Kim looks a bit impressed when Hongjoong breaks free with more well placed kicks and some strong thrashing, and Hongjoong takes the momentary pause to put some distance between them. He ends up stood in the middle of the big empty space he and his friends play ball in, chest heaving as he takes in air and watches Kim get to his feet. He's agile, all muscle like a panther, and as he stalks forward, Hongjoong feels like prey.

"You're good at running," Kim muses, and his steps are slow, calculated. He knows he's going to win, so there's no need for him to exert unnecessary energy to get there. "Like you're practiced."

Cold sweeps through Hongjoong at the words, and he backs away steadily, making sure not to corner himself. He feels Kim prodding at their memories, and the one he conjures up is a cruel reminder. Hongjoong's lip curls as he flinches, and Kim's laugh is loud and mean, bouncing off the walls of the warehouse.

"Aw, you don't like that one?" he pokes at the wound, and it's so strange to know that this is himself, in a way, mocking him for hating something they both experienced. Hongjoong doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of the fear, though, so he stares at him head on.

It's a surprise when Kim bursts into a run, explosive and quick, just like a big cat. Hongjoong almost stumbles back, but he knows the wall is closer than he'd like, so he sidesteps instead, trying to throw Kim off and keep himself from being cornered at the same time.

It works for a moment, Kim lunging at him over and over as Hongjoong zigzags out of the way. Kim seems to be getting a little frustrated, which makes Hongjoong's stomach flutter with excitement.

He's not strong or fast or smart enough to keep Kim away for long, though, and after a short while, Kim fakes him out, manages to get his foot behind Hongjoong's knee to topple him. Hongjoong falls back hard, not expecting it, and Kim is on him in moments.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, and Hongjoong wriggles in his grasp as he holds him down harder than before, making all the points where their bodies touch hurt. His mouth is close to Hongjoong's ear, and Kim's smile sounds cruel as it shapes his words. "He's dead now."

The confession makes Hongjoong jerk in Kim's grip. He hadn't been expecting to be told that, but satisfaction simmers through him nonetheless at the news. Their eyes lock when Kim pulls back, and Hongjoong can't help the shaky breath and tiny smile that slips over his face.

"He suffered, too," Kim continues, their gazes held as he speaks, voice lilting like he's reading a storybook to a child. "And guess who got to deliver that last blow?"

"Us," Hongjoong breathes, arching his back up to try and press their chests together. Kim nods once, and smiles that smile that sends fear coursing though Hongjoong each time. Knowing that this man, the one holding him down, the one that is  _ him _ , technically, has killed at least one person, settles into Hongjoong's mind. He's sure he's sick for the way his arousal grows at the idea, but he can't help it.

"That's right," the confirmation makes Hongjoong shudder as he blinks up at Kim, still heavy and imposing over him. As Hongjoong's tension bleeds from his body, Kim ducks down, nose brushing Hongjoong's throat. "Does that scare you?"

The question, murmured into Hongjoong's skin, is meant to be answered. Hongjoong steels himself, closing his eyes as he nods.

The silence and stillness between them is brief, and Hongjoong takes advantage of the momentary peace to break free one last time. It works, and the sound Kim lets out as he scrambles to his feet is furious. It sounds like a snarl, primal and angry, unhinged in a way that makes genuine fear slip into his veins again as he bolts away. He's hard, now, no denying how worked up he is because of this, but he makes himself focus, pushes himself into a run. He's not even sure where he's going; there's only so much space in the warehouse, and he's almost certain Kim isn't the type to pick him up and put him gently on the couch so he's comfortable as they fuck. Not that Hongjoong would want that, of course, but it doesn't hurt to be strategic.

Kim is gaining on him, though. Hongjoong can hear the sounds of the metal on his gear clinking, the heavy boots landing hard against the concrete floor. He's scared, the feeling building in his chest, fluttery. He doesn't even think before veering hard to the left, but his socks betray him, slipping on the ground as he tries to turn and take himself away again. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he barely catches himself on one hand and rights himself again, but it's not enough. The boots Kim's wearing have much better traction, and he's far more practiced in catching people than Hongjoong is at evading them.

This time, there is no half-gentle wrestle to the ground. Kim plants the base of his palm into Hongjoong's shoulder, making him turn, and then his gloved hand is wrapping around Hongjoong's throat. He slams Hongjoong to the floor like that, and Hongjoong is left winded on his back.

He's gasping, low, frantic noises escaping him as his body tries to take in air again, weak against the hold Kim has on him. It's a surprise, then, when Kim takes his hand off Hongjoong's neck, standing, but before Hongjoong can try to roll away again, Kim's heavy boot is laying over his windpipe. He applies pressure, and Hongjoong's hands fly up to scramble uselessly at his ankle.

"We were going to have fun," his voice has venom in it, and Hongjoong jolts under him when Kim bends over a little and spits in his face. "But now you're really in for it."

Hongjoong knows that Kim was never going to be nice; the point of this is not for him to feel safe and like he’s having a good time, it never was. The look on Kim's face now, though, tells him that maybe his stubbornness has come to harm him more than help him this time.

The way Kim had bent at the waist to spit in Hongjoong's face has applied more pressure to Hongjoong's throat, and he's making scared, choked noises as Kim stares. The glob of spit is wet and thick on his cheek, and as Hongjoong thrashes, trying to get away and alleviate the pressure making it hard to breathe, he feels it slide down towards his hairline. It's gross and demeaning and terribly delicious, and Hongjoong feels heat sweep through him at the thought of how dirty Kim is going to make him.

Humming, Kim's mouth ticks up in one corner when Hongjoong has the thought. He still looks mean and mad, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

"If I take this off," he begins, pressing down harder with the boot on Hongjoong's neck. "Will you try to run?"

The pressure lets up a bit, and Hongjoong gasps for air. His hands are squeezing and releasing, restless where they're gripping at Kim's calf and ankle.

He doesn't answer quickly enough, and Kim's lip curls. His hand moves to his hip, and then he's got something in his hand that glints in the low light of the warehouse. Hongjoong realizes with a jolt and a cold lick of fear that it's a knife.

"I don't think you understand how this works," Kim's voice is lower, and he drops into a contorted crouch with his foot still planted over Hongjoong's windpipe, putting more pressure on where he’s most vulnerable. The knife is twirled between Kim's fingers without a glance, and Hongjoong's eyes lock onto it as it shifts easily in Kim's hand. His attention is drawn back to Kim when he leans forward, closer to Hongjoong's face, expression frighteningly blank. "I'm going to do whatever I want to you. You don't get a say."

Hongjoong's breathing is shallow, quick in his chest where his lungs burn. The knife comes to a stop with the hilt in Kim's palm, and then it's approaching his face, the point of it skimming down the middle of his forehead, over his nose. He halts it over Hongjoong's mouth, pressing the flat of it to his lips.

Shuddering, Hongjoong parts his lips a tiny bit, just enough to poke his tongue out to feel the cool edge of the sharpened metal. He almost wants to draw blood, wonders how Kim would react to the sight of him with blood in his mouth.

He doesn't get the chance, though, because before he can run the end of his tongue along the blade, Kim draws the knife away. It's still held expertly between his fingers and his palm, and Hongjoong feels himself go a little cross-eyed as he watches the knife as it's maneuvered until Kim can press the length of it against Hongjoong's stomach.

He's fighting for breath still, and his belly is rising and falling as his diaphragm works to draw in enough air. Dizzy, he watches Kim slip the knife down towards his waistband and then up under Hongjoong's tshirt. It's just a shirt he got second hand from someone at some point, something that doesn't mean anything to him, but as the fabric is sliced through like a hot poker through butter, Hongjoong shudders.

"You really need to learn how to stay fucking still," Kim murmurs, eyes on Hongjoong's chest and stomach as they're bared. He immediately fails his task when he shivers at the touch of the cool metal against the skin of his sternum, but Kim just smiles. "Or we might have a bit more cleanup to do than I'd originally anticipated."

The implication is strong– Hongjoong can stay still, or he can bleed. Possibly even bleed enough to make a mess on the floor of the warehouse, enough of a mess that they'd need to worry about it being clean before the others come by.

Kim's eyes are bright, lit up with something fierce and mean. Violence dances in his gaze, and Hongjoong finds himself twisted up in the web he's created, caught. When he stands again he takes his foot off Hongjoong's neck, watches as Hongjoong coughs and pants for precious air, filling his burning lungs as Kim stares down at him. His shirt, hanging at Hongjoong's sides where the knife had cut it open, exposes him to Kim's eyes, the chilled air of the warehouse.

It's not acting, the way Hongjoong's voice shakes as he speaks. "What are you going to do to me?" is his question, one that makes Kim laugh.

It's odd, hearing his own laugh directed back at him, and Kim manages to make it sound cruel.

"Whatever I want to, little one," he croons, dropping back into a crouch beside Hongjoong. Jerking his chin at Hongjoong, Kim indicates what he means when he says, "Take them off."

Hongjoong balks for a moment, unsure of if it's a trap, if pulling off his own jeans will end up in him hurting or unable to breathe again, but when he doesn't move right away, Kim lifts the knife close to his own face, admiring the curve of the blade. His hands are moving before he realizes they are, trembling as they fumble at his belt. Kim's eyes flick from the knife to where Hongjoong is struggling with his clothes, shaking his head and tsking when it takes longer than he wants it to.

"You really are a fucking nuisance," he gripes, and then the knife is cutting through the leather of his belt. It happens so close to Hongjoong's hands that he startles, his wrist brushing the other side of the blade as it's drawn away. Hongjoong pauses in pushing his jeans down his legs and stares up at Kim, who meets his gaze with darkness in his own. "You never could do anything right."

It stings, the words harsh, but Hongjoong knows he thinks like this, and clearly Kim has lived through the consequences of Hongjoong's mistakes. He's allowed some anger, he reasons.

He's too caught up in his own head to react quickly enough when Kim moves. Before Hongjoong can register everything that's happening, Kim is yanking his jeans the rest of fhe way down his thighs. Knowing he's supposed to be fighting and relying on that small part of him that is genuinely frightened, Hongjoong thrashes, wriggling and pushing at Kim as much as he can manage.

The blade is sharp against his tender throat in the next second, and everything goes still in response. Hongjoong can't even swallow, the knife pushed up against his skin, and Kim holds them there, unmoving, for a moment. He's making sure Hongjoong won't try anything again, and Hongjoong knows his eyes are wide where he's staring at Kim. It takes another moment before Kim moves again, but even so, he doesn't take the blade away.

He seems very practiced at pulling someone's pants off with a knife held to their throat, a thought that sends more heat coursing through Hongjoong. He's hard in his boxers, obvious to both of them as Kim finally frees his feet from the ends of his jeans, taking his socks with them, and the shame makes everything even better.

"You're so weak," Kim remarks, sounding disappointed. "Is this really how helpless I was back then?"

Hongjoong's pride bristles at the comment, but he pushes it aside, revels in how weak and helpless he  _ feels _ , how much it turns him on. His knees are knocked together, keeping himself as closed as possible as he watches Kim adjust where he's perched on his knees. Kim's hand is sure where he touches Hongjoong, the glove smooth over his skin as it drags up his thigh. 

Despite how Hongjoong tries to keep his thighs pressed together, Kim wriggles his fingers between them and then he's yanking them apart, the second of time before Hongjoong tries to close his legs again enough for Kim to lodge his arm in the space. Held apart like this, Hongjoong fights again. He can't do a lot, the blade and Kim's words about 'cleanup' enough to keep him relatively still.

As if proving a point, Kim lifts the knife from Hongjoong's throat, and it’s hardly a surprise when it's back immediately, pressed this time to the upper outside of his right thigh.

"There's a big artery here," it's a warning. Hongjoong nods his understanding, but Kim spells it out for him anyway, like he's a dumb animal. "If I cut you open here, it's bye-bye."

Hongjoong fills his lungs again with air, swallows the spit in his mouth and nods again. No funny business; he understands.

The arm holding his legs apart moves then. Hongjoong lets his legs splay apart, the sharp edge of the blade still pressed to the side of his thigh enough incentive for him to obey. For some reason, even if he knows it would blink Kim out of existence, the fear that grips Hongjoong is rooted in the idea that he will die here. It's heady and incomparably arousing, and Hongjoong trembles with anticipation as the gloved hand slides down his inner thigh.

Kim's hand bypasses Hongjoong's cock, hard and wet at the tip, staining through his boxers, to press his thumb against Hongjoong's hole. There are two layers of fabric between their skin, but it's heady nonetheless. Hongjoong hasn't been fucked in a while, and the whole situation is almost too much, overwhelming him until he feels like he could drown.

"You don't have very good deduction skills, huh?" Kim mutters, clearly referring to how Hongjoong had been ordered to take his pants off and had really only taken the pants off. The huff Kim lets out is familiar, and Hongjoong feels a weird ache in his chest at the sound and sight of it. That's  _ him _ . This is crazy. "Always making more work for me."

Cheeks pink, Hongjoong doesn't even try to close his legs when Kim draws up and away. He's glad he didn't make a fuss when he spots the knife again, barely seconds before Kim is slicing through the fabric of his underwear in three clean cuts. The pieces fall away from his body, and then Hongjoong is bared completely. 

It should be embarrassing, and there's definitely fear there too, but most of what Hongjoong feels as Kim pushes his hand between his legs again is arousal, deep set and all-consuming. Again, Kim's thumb is pressed to his hole, and the feeling of the leather against where he's so vulnerable is heavy. Hongjoong's breathing is stuttered, and he tenses when Kim presses harder, like he makes to shove his thumb in dry.

"Please," voice as shaky as his breaths, Hongjoong shifts a little. He stares down his body, Kim's eyes glittering in the low light when they meet his own. "Not like that."

The blink he's given is slow and catlike, the smirk that slips across Kim’s mouth devious.

"Oh no?" he asks, teasing. His thumb is forced in, just the tip of it pushed into his hole, and Hongjoong gasps at the dry tug and burn of it. "You don't want me to finger you first?"

Feeling the blood leave his face as he blanches, Hongjoong stills. Kim is moving, the knife almost soft against Hongjoong's thigh as he lifts onto his knees between Hongjoong's legs. His right hand is messing with his tactical belt, the series of ties and straps that keeps his gear together.

"You worked yourself open last night, is that it?" it's a question Hongjoong knows he is not meant to answer. Kim gets his pants down his hips just far enough to pull his hard cock out. It's the exact same as Hongjoong's, of course it is, but something about it seems bigger, thicker than Hongjoong's. He tears his gaze from Kim's cock where it's cradled in his palm, back up to his eyes. "Still open enough down here for me to just push in?"

As he speaks, Kim pushes his hips forward, the press of the knife sharpening at the same time as he rocks himself forward. His cock bumps against Hongjoong's ass, the head brushing against his hole, and Hongjoong yelps.

"No, no, no," shaking his head, Hongjoong knows his eyes are wide. His hands flutter uselessly, wanting to shove Kim away but not wanting to incur the ensuing wrath. The knife is very present in his mind. "Don't, I'm not, I didn't..."

He trails off when Kim tilts his head at him, expression painted with an exaggerated look of faux surprise. Hongjoong swallows thickly, tries to calm his racing heart.

"I'm not prepared," he admits, and the look Kim gives him makes his heart sink. Hongjoong doesn't like that he's disappointed Kim, and he tries to salvage it with a rushed offer. "But you don't have to do much, I-"

"You like when it hurts," Kim completes for him. The smile that mars his face is all teeth. "I know. You're obvious about it." His eyes flash, but his expression doesn't falter. "It's something you never grow out of."

Hongjoong feels like the breath has been emptied from him in a sharp blow. It's so strange; this person is still him, despite how much they differ. It makes him wonder, again, what will happen to turn him into Kim.

As he ponders the question, Kim takes the moment to lean back again. Hongjoong is distracted from his thoughts by the sight of Kim's cock, wet at the tip and red down the length, and he stares openly as Kim lifts his free hand to Hongjoong's mouth.

"You can get these wet," he offers, like it's a compromise pulled reluctantly from him. The idea that Kim would prep him dry makes Hongjoong shiver, and he sucks on the two fingers pressed against his tongue. He tries to make it as wet as he can, knows that if he's being given this, it's most likely all he'll be allowed. Kim regards him intently, looking pensive, and it's without warning when he yanks his hand away. Hongjoong's front teeth catch on the leather, and Kim sneers.

"Good thing I'm not putting my dick near your mouth, huh?" he's poking at Hongjoong, who blushes. "Not quite ready for that yet."

Hongjoong wants to argue it; he wants a dick in his mouth, wants  _ Kim's  _ dick in his mouth, but the sharp pressure of the blade against his skin is a reminder that he might not want to fuck that up. As if sensing what Hongjoong is thinking, Kim's eyebrow quirks up.

"You want it?" he asks, and nodding distracts Hongjoong from the sharp pain and fullness from the first finger being pushed into him. It's not an unfamiliar presence, but his own little fingers, deep in the night, alone in the warehouse as he thinks of Seonghwa or the man at the corner store or the stranger on the street, are always gentler.

The finger crooks inside him, bending up to press directly against his prostate on the first try, and Hongjoong seizes up as pleasure floods through him. He's left gaping up at the ceiling, heart hammering in his ears as his cock twitches against his stomach.

Neither of them say a word for a long moment as Kim starts to move his finger, and the feeling of the leather is unfamiliar inside Hongjoong. It feels good, and once he's forced his body to relax enough, he lets himself sink into it. It's when he rocks down into the fuck of Kim's finger that he's given the second.

"If you continue to be good," Kim proposes, adjusting the angle of his hand to push against Hongjoong's sweet spot with every thrust. "I'll let you try to suck me off, mkay?"

The offer is tempting, but it's also a reminder of what they're supposed to be doing here. It's simultaneous, the way realization dawns on both of them at the same time, making them alert as their gazes both snap up to each other's.

It's a risky move, but Hongjoong doesn't think before he does it, and manages to catch Kim off guard when he whips his hand out, knocking the knife from Kim's grasp. It makes a nice noise as it clatters to the cement floor, sounding like success as it skids away from them. Kim looks surprised, and Hongjoong knows he must look a little ridiculous, open around the fingers still in his ass as he squirms, but they slip free when he rolls, manages to get his knees under him.

He's about to shove up onto his feet, hands planted on the floor and ready to push, when there's a weight on his back. He can feel the sharp edges of the ends and metal parts of Kim's gear against his bare skin, and the heavy line of heat pressed to the small of his back warms through him pleasantly, even as fear slinks through his bloodstream as Kim lodges an arm around his neck.

Upper body flattened against the gritty floor, Hongjoong loses blood to his brain quickly.

His struggles weaken as the arm over his throat doesn't let up, and he lifts his hands to claw at Kim's arm, desperate to gain any semblance of an upper hand. It doesn't get him far, though, Kim's hold tightening around his throat, and Hongjoong realizes that it's a threat, one Kim is willing to follow through on. He's absolutely certain, in that moment, that Kim is going to hold him like that until he passes out.

It shouldn't send the haze of arousal swimming through him again, but it does. His hands drop away as his vision goes dark, and then he's being dropped to the ground completely, Kim's body moving back but not away.

"You force my hand," he snarls, sounding cruel and unyielding. Hongjoong's in for it now, but he only shivers in pleasure when Kim grabs one of his asscheeks and pulls it aside to bare his hole.

It's dirty and wonderful and there is no warning whatsoever before Kim is pushing the head of his cock against Hongjoong's hole.

"N-no," Hongjoong gasps, reaching back with arms that are still weak. Kim slaps the hands away easily, shoving his hips forward all at once, spearing Hongjoong open on his cock in that single second. Voice breaking around his noise, Hongjoong cries out in pain, and it's overwhelming how good it is being taken like this.

Like this, he's just there to be used. Like this, his pleasure is an afterthought, if that. Like this, he can't say no. Like this, he doesn't want to.

"You're nice and tight," Kim coos at him, not sounding at all affected. It stings, almost more than the pain does, that Kim is completely unbothered by the tight heat around him. Hongjoong wonders wildly for a moment if the man can feel anything at all. "No one else has had you? Are you serious?"

Hongjoong's mouth is hanging open, pain stitched across his features in a desperate display. Kim leans down over him, holding still in Hongjoong to let him adjust in a surprising moment of graciousness.

"I didn't know when I would come back to," he says, the words murmured against Hongjoong's bare, sweaty shoulder. He's held completely still, like a predator about to go in for the kill. "I knew it was after him, but to catch you before them..."

It's like a bolt of electricity through Hongjoong. He jerks under Kim, twitching against the floor. The curve of Kim's smile is pressed to his skin.

Them.  _ Them _ .

Who is them?

Tempted to ask, Hongjoong opens his mouth. It's all for naught, though, because Kim laughs, sweet and familiar, weird to hear from the other side of the equation. Pulling his hips back, his gloved hands tighten on Hongjoong's waist, holding him still through the burn. Hongjoong wouldn't dare move, doesn't want to. He trembles against the floor, and Kim pauses with just the head of his dick in Hongjoong's hole.

"This is far more fun on my end of things," there's a smile in Kim's voice, and he sounds genuinely pleased. "I remember being where you are. You have more fight than I did, though. Makes it even more entertaining."

The lilt to his voice is teasing, like he's taunting a child. Hongjoong takes in a shuddering breath that is promptly punched out of him when Kim shoves his cock back into his ass. He makes a sharp noise, but Kim doesn't pause, doesn't stop for even a second. His fingers will leave bruises, Hongjoong is sure of it, and the idea of it sends a thrill through him.

Kim fucks like his body was built for it. Hongjoong himself has entertained the thought of topping, and isn't opposed to it. His only experience, if they're counting it as such, is with bottoming, though, so he's admittedly more familiar with that. It's not an unpleasant thought, fucking someone, but he wonders how he got from where he is now, to where Kim is.

"Fuck," he rasps out after a particularly rough thrust, and Kim grunts in response. His various belts and accoutrements are clinking in the quiet of the warehouse, the sounds echoing off the high ceilings and tall walls.

When Hongjoong is shunted forward on a strong fuck in, Kim lifts a hand to curl it into Hongjoong's hair. It twists, pulling harder and meaner than Hongjoong would think one is supposed to do when one is having sex, but it feels so good, a rush of endorphins and adrenaline from the pain hitting him in a wave. He feels dizzy and dopey for a moment, and Kim chuckles lowly from behind him.

"Now you're not trying to get away, hm?" he prods, and Hongjoong squeezes his eyes shut against the reminder the words carry. Too similar to what he's heard before, more fear pours into his blood, and his hands tingle with the urge to lash out. Kim yanks him further back, sitting Hongjoong on his cock so they're pressed back to front.

"That's it," Kim almost sounds encouraging, the words cooed into Hongjoong's ear with some sincerity. His other hand lifts to lay over Hongjoong's throat, and two fingers sneak up to sink into Hongjoong's mouth. "You just have to be still. You'll learn to love this."

There's nothing he can say, not while he's sucking on Kim's fingers like he's starving for them. At the sound of Kim's breath quickening and the rougher thrusts, Hongjoong thinks they're both okay with that, and it's not until he's gagging violently that Hongjoong grabs desperately at Kim's hand sunk deep into his mouth. He pulls on it, manages to get the fingers free, and they're soaked where Kim pinches Hongjoong's nipple between them and his thumb. It feels good, more pain to add to the pile, all of it delicious and distracting.

"You're gonna make me come," it sounds reluctant, like Kim doesn't want it to be over. Hongjoong agrees, but the thought is fleeting, momentary before he's released from Kim's hold. He barely manages to get a hand under him before he face plants into the concrete, but Kim doesn't stop fucking him for a second. He's got one hand on Hongjoong's hip, the other on his shoulder to hold him still, and Hongjoong lets himself go, slumps into the floor. His cheek is pressed to the grit of the cement, and it's all so good, so much better than he could have ever imagined.

"Gonna fuck you full," said through gritted teeth, Kim's words are harsh. "Gonna pump you full of my cum. You'll drip all night, and tomorrow when they come by you'll still smell like me."

Gross and mean and perfect, the words make Hongjoong push his hips back, and he bounces his ass on Kim's dick, arches his back, tries to make himself look pretty for him. It works, and Kim fucks into him a few more times, noises escaping on every thrust, and then he's stilling. Heat floods into Hongjoong's ass, filling him up the way Kim had promised. There is a pause as Kim's cock twitches inside him, spurts of cum drenching his insides, and Hongjoong just lays there and welcomes all of it.

The silence in the warehouse feels tangible. Hongjoong is panting, and he can hear Kim breathing a little heavier too. Satisfaction hums through him as he finds himself pleased to have been of use, pleased to have earned Kim's cum.

With a wet, dirty squelch, Kim pulls out. He hisses, sensitive, and Hongjoong collapses to the floor fully now that there's no reason for him to keep his ass up. Cum leaks from him, one glob sliding down his taint towards his balls, and then there's a gloved thumb trailing back up, gathering it before it can drip to the ground.

"Here," Kim says, voice gentler now. He offers his thumb to Hongjoong, who opens his mouth a little, lets Kim press his thumb between his lips. It's not a pleasant flavour, but Hongjoong hadn't been expecting it to be. He sucks the cum off, rubs the taste into the pallet of his mouth, and then Kim is drawing away again.

They stay mostly pressed together for another long moment, and then Kim splays his hand over Hongjoong's ass. It's not a big hand, but the glove heightens the feeling, and Hongjoong makes a little noise, pushing back into the touch.

"You too tired to get me off again?" the question is rhetorical; Kim's getting off again no matter what.

Swallowing hard, Hongjoong decides to keep things interesting.

"Fuck you," he spits, putting as much venom as he can in the words, and then he's moving, trying to get away again. He knows it's futile, but that's not the point of it. The  _ point  _ of it, is how Kim's lip curls as he makes a low, angry noise in his chest, and grabs Hongjoong by the hair again before he can get very far.

"You're a fucking pain the in the ass," Kim complains, voice gravely. He sounds good, voice deeper since he's gotten off, and Hongjoong shrieks as he's hauled up onto his knees by the grip in his hair. His legs lift off the ground at one point, and Kim's smile is all teeth again, mean and frightening when Hongjoong is pulled around to face him. "I said you'd only get this if you were good, but I think I want to make you take it anyway."

At the words, Hongjoong forces himself through the haze of pain his body is in, and excitement flutters through him. Kim's dick is half hard again from the struggle, and Hongjoong's head is yanked in closer as he stares at it. Before he can open his mouth, though, Kim drags him in close and rubs his face against his dick. It's still wet with his own cum, and Hongjoong whines when all Kim does for a long moment is clean his cock off on Hongjoong's cheeks.

"Please," Hongjoong begs, opening his mouth further to try and look even more enticing, and Kim acquiesces, eyes dark and gaze heavy on Hongjoong as he fucks his cock into the wet heat of his mouth. Kim forces him to the base right away, and Hongjoong chokes, chest heaving as he gags. It's painful, heaving like he's about to throw up, but he keeps at it, because the sounds Kim is giving him warm him all the way through. He would walk through fire to hear Kim's low voice wrapped around his moans like this, the sounds pulled from him addictive in a way that makes Hongjoong almost scared. 

He won’t get this again. What Kim had said, about the others giving this to him, rings through his head, but it won’t be the same. It won’t be this, won’t be  _ himself _ . The thought is strange, makes him feel bad and dirty but he can’t help it; he doesn’t want Kim to leave him. 

He’s about to panic, body lighting up with that new desperation, and his eyes blur as his tears begin to fall. Kim doesn’t let up, his cock still forced deep into Hongjoong’s mouth, but he does show him a small mercy, forcing calm through their link. Neither of them seem to be able to control it, but it works better when it’s Kim doing it, and Hongjoong lets himself sink into it. The panic subsides, and Hongjoong is left empty when Kim pulls his cock out of his mouth.

“Wha…” Hongjoong can’t seem to close his mouth, wants Kim’s cock back so bad he thinks there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to have it plugging his throat again. He wants it heavy on his tongue, wants the taste of Kim back, wants to heave and gag and not have enough air. He wants to suffer for Kim to feel good, wants to be useful to him. 

“I’m going to teach you how to get your face fucked,” Kim’s voice is overly sweet, a delectable contrast to the harsh hand in his hair. Hongjoong nods, blinking through the tears to stare up at Kim with his mouth open, lips curled over his teeth so they don’t catch. Kim stares down at him, but there is no smile on his face as he pulls Hongjoong’s mouth in, fucks his head down over his cock. 

It’s wet and the sounds his throat makes are disgusting. He sounds like a toy, like the ones people use in porn, soaked and fake and not made to be treated kindly. As Kim fucks into his throat over and over, making Hongjoong drool and cough and shiver, Hongjoong focuses on making sure he keeps his teeth covered, throat open for Kim to dump his cum down when he finishes. 

“First time you take dick down your throat,” Kim remarks, and it’s said through a clenched jaw as he fucks Hongjoong’s mouth faster. “Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one can fuck you like I can, isn’t that right?”

Hongjoong moans, the sound of it cut off by Kim’s cock, but the vibrations seem to be enough to send him over the edge, and then Hongjoong’s throat is being flooded with cum. It’s a lot, and he coughs before he can help it, cum dripping from his mouth onto the floor between Kim’s boots. A few drops land on the toe of his boot, and Hongjoong is bending down to lick up the mess before Kim can even open his mouth. The ground is gritty, and Hongjoong feels the roughness of the dust scrape his tongue. He swallows it all down, and then he’s pressing a messy kiss to the toe of Kim’s boot before licking the cum from the leather as well. When he rights himself again, Kim has tucked his cock back into his pants, and is buckling the last of his gear back into place. The look he angles down at Hongjoong is indescernable, and that, more than anything they’d done that night, terrifies him. 

“Wait,” Hongjoong reaches up, curling a hand around one of Kim’s belts. Kim is still staring down at him, and Hongjoong watches as his expression empties completely, until there is a blank stare meeting his despairing gaze. 

“You remember how to use the hourglass?” even his voice is empty, and Hongjoong aches. His body hurts, the violence inflicted on him making him stiff, forcing him to stay aware of every movement, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in his heart as he nods. Kim blinks down at him, and then he’s stepping back. 

Hongjoong’s hand slips from the hold he’d had on the strap of Kim’s gear, and he falls forward onto his hands. 

“Don’t go,” he pleads, crawling forward, knees screaming at him as he does. He doesn’t pay them any mind. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

He’s begging now, and it’s almost laughable, the contrast between this and how the rest of their time together has played out. Hongjoong stares up at Kim, who is still looking down at him. 

Wordless, Kim lifts his hand, and his fingers work to pull at the leather of the glove. Once his hand is bared, Hongjoong sees how scarred and mottled the skin is. Looking from his hand to Kim’s face, Hongjoong makes himself remember every detail he can of Kim. 

The warehouse is silent. Hongjoong inhales deeply as Kim extends two fingers, and the last thing Hongjoong sees before everything goes black is Kim’s dark eyes, devoid of anything but cold. 

  
**  
  


Hongjoong wakes with a start.

Despite the cool air of the warehouse, he is sweating. Hair stuck to his brow, palms clammy, his shirt stuck to his back. He’s panting, and he doesn’t know why. 

The hourglass is on the table, and it catches the light of the early morning sun streaming through the window as Hongjoong stares at it. He doesn’t want to look away, afraid that if he does, he’ll forget everything.

He doesn’t want to forget. 

A sound behind him, and Hongjoong turns quickly. Heart lodged in his throat, he hopes foolishly that it’s Kim, that he listened, that he stayed, that he was  _ real _ . As sleep leaves him, though, he’s more and more convinced that it was a dream.

It’s not Kim. Seonghwa, eyes wide and body language concerned, rushes through the space towards him, and Hongjoong feels himself relax at the presence. 

“Hongjoong,” his voice is low, gentle despite the urgency in it as he lowers himself to one knee in front of Hongjoong. He takes Hongjoong’s hand in both of his, thumb stroking over his skin. “Are you alright? When you called, you sounded terrible.”

Called? Hongjoong is puzzled for a short moment, until he realizes he must have called Seonghwa to his side while he was mostly asleep, probably still pretending Kim was real. Hongjoong’s head clears, and he makes himself face the fact that what happened with Kim is what he wants to be true, but isn’t. Nothing more than a dream. 

“I’m better,” he says, trying to sound reassuring and not like he’s about to cry. He nods once, attempts a smile. “Just had a bad moment, I guess.”

Seonghwa looks skeptical, but he lets Hongjoong stand and move away from him. He’s not going far, just wants to change his shirt, and when he passes the hourglass, it seems to pulse with energy, drawing him in. He ignores it; he’s angry at the hourglass, almost as angry as he is at the dream, for making him think he was being given what he wanted and then taking it away. The shine of the brass seems to mock him for thinking he could have such a thing.

When he pulls his shirt over his head, the motion stunted with how his arms and chest ache from having slept weird, he hears Seonghwa inhale sharply behind him. 

Twisting his upper body to look behind himself at him, Hongjoong sees Seonghwa staring down at his body. Confused, Hongjoong does the same, and his heart stutters to a stop in his chest when he sees what Seonghwa is staring at.

“Hongjoong,” he’s speaking slowly, like he doesn’t want to spook a prey animal. They both lift their eyes so their gazes meet, and Hongjoong hears the blood rushing in his ears. “Where are those bruises from?”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!!! 
> 
> this has been an idea of mine since the very first fever:diary teaser came out, and it's taken me until now to actually write it. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!!!!


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